Cat and Cave
by Ninnik Nishukan
Summary: By 2009, you'd think that if Drakken and Shego still hadn't taken over the world, at least they'd have managed to start up a proper relationship. You'd be wrong.
1. Chapter 1

**ONE**

* * *

He'd suspected it for a while, in a half-conscious, preoccupied kind of way. So he supposed it wasn't exactly a shock, but she'd cemented it when she'd tossed her hair one afternoon, actually laughing at one of his jokes (not that he'd entirely intended to make one, but still). It had made him realize, with queasy horror, that he'd been desperate to get the same reaction out of her again.

Then there was the fact that he'd gone crazy wondering what she'd been up to during her Attitudinated week of absence. And that hadn't even been her, but some brainwashed pod person version of her! She'd even set their hounds on the guy who'd shown up at the lair, the guy the pod person had been dating! So he shouldn't care! He shouldn't be giving it a single thought!

But he was.

He'd started missing her during the weekends, quite consciously, and more often than he'd ever done. He'd started looking at her when she was there, in ways that were probably inappropriate (not that she'd noticed, so far).

No! Why did it have to be _her_? It was unfair! Wrong! She'd skin him alive! Scratch him up with rabies-infected claws!

Make him bleed green.

Who'd decided this? It certainly hadn't been him! Why couldn't DNAmy just have said yes that one time, so he'd be far away somewhere, making science babies? But no, she'd just ripped out his heart and stomped on it, just like Shego was going to do! If he wasn't even good enough for DNAmy, who was considered a catch by no one but himself (and mostly when he'd been high on adrenaline and grateful for the life-saving) then he certainly wasn't good enough for Shego.

And especially not now. He was gradually turning into some sort of moody cave troll, eating too much— cupcakes, cupcakes, cupcakes, no, she hadn't liked it when he'd packed on the pounds with Hank's leftover stock— not shaving often enough, not necessarily showering every single day— he still brushed his teeth twice a day and flossed before bedtime, though, because dental hygiene was important—

Not to mention grumbling, growling and snapping his way through life.

More than usual, that was.

He felt sorry for himself, and he knew it.

Cave trolls were always at their most disgusting when they were trying to attract a difficult mate. Unfortunately, only cave trolls knew this. To everyone else, it just looked gross and misguided. Especially to cats, who were always clean, cool and composed.

He glared across the room at her, grooming herself without a care in the world.

It was clear that he wasn't her type.

Whenever he even considered making an attempt, his gut would boil and his face would break into a cold sweat. The only way to hide these things was to refuse to acknowledge his feelings. To tell himself that this was a workplace, and that he had far too much to do, and that she wasn't so great anyway. And once, when he couldn't come up with a villainous plan to keep them occupied, to turn to another method of ignoring her; devoting himself to getting all the floors in his lair refinished.

Most of the time, these methods worked. Sometimes, though, there had to be relief.

One day, when he believed he was all alone in his cavernous laboratory, he decided to blow off some steam. "STOP IT! THIS IS A WASTE OF TIME! I'm _tired_ of flop sweat and clammy hands!" he declared to the world, at least having the satisfaction of his own voice echoing back, empathizing with his frustrations. "I'm tired of feeling nauseous! I swear there's a sack full of wild cats in my belly!"

"What, did you eat a whole bag of bran muffins again or something?"

There she was, leaning on the back wall, eating an apple…mocking him.

Of course she was.

The only fortunate thing about her lippyness was that her apparent desire to keep up a running commentary on everything he did and said had interrupted him before he'd actually revealed anything.

"SHEGO!" he scolded, and then he went into a raging tirade that even he tuned out. When he stormed off he had no idea what he'd just said, only that he was still making noises, despite no longer having an audience.

His body boiled with anger as his legs took him far away. Being furious was the only way to have even a tiny chance at ignoring the bottomless pit of hopeless grief that waited for him, under the thin veneer of offended irritation. Even so, he found the anger came easy.

This was pointless, this was meaningless, this was unfair, unfair, unfair! Why did it have to happen to him? Only bad things would come of it!

The worst thing was knowing that they _would_ come, that they were inevitable, that it was only a matter of time. She'd figure it out eventually, or he'd slip up.

There was no way anything _else_ than pain _could_ come of it. She was all he had.

* * *

He'd— they'd— saved the world.

Nobody had seen it coming, least of all them. Shego enjoyed being surprised. Having Kimmie show up or another plan fail was never a surprise, just another disappointment.

Now they were finally home again, after a lot of attention from family, other villains, various scientists and the media.

Drakken looked flustered and tired, but happy, so she decided to surf the good mood. He'd impressed her. Made her think things could actually change, made her reconsider old ideas and wishes that she'd shelved a dozen times before, without him ever knowing.

She leaned towards him, and drew a quick, soft breath of anticipation and nerves, but then he leaned back, his expression full of the same strange, almost irritated confusion she'd seen when he'd decided to back out of their impending embrace on the Lorwardian spaceship.

"What are you doing?" he asked, and she couldn't quite read his voice, couldn't tell what he wanted.

Hesitation fluttered through her for a second, but then her arms dropped to her sides, and she shook her head. "Nothing at all," she said almost neutrally, a sort of disgusted resignation starting to pour into her. So he was ruining everything before anything had even attempted to begin, huh?

"Shego—"

"This isn't going to work," she said simply. She had to have been crazy to even try. No wonder she'd always thought _nope, never gonna happen_ in the past.

"What isn't going to work?" His tone went sharp. "What are you talking about?"

So he didn't even have a clue, huh? He was only making it worse.

"Exactly," she said, picking an invisible speck of lint off of her dress as she got up. Maybe it was better this way. Now she could just pretend the thought had never even entered her mind, because_ he_ sure wasn't aware of what had almost happened.

"What do you mean, 'exactly'? Where are you going?"

"I'm tired. Good night."

"Hey, wait— what just happened?"

She didn't wait. Nothing had happened.

She also didn't hear the next echoing scream, occurring much later. She was already asleep.

"WHAT JUST HAPPENED?"

* * *

She stayed away for a few days before appearing in the lair again.

The next time they met, she only called him 'Dr. Drakken' (when she called him anything at all), but he didn't really consider it.

It took another two weeks for the change to sink in. When it had, the marked absence of any 'Doc', 'Dr. D', 'Chief' or even any 'Sport' grew to be an ever-present, grating background noise in his mind, like the constant hum of a computer way past its prime.

He couldn't bring himself to ask her about it, though. He had no idea how to phrase the question without sounding ridiculous. Acknowledging the fact that he'd noticed something trivial like that missing in their daily lives would be admitting too much already.

Instead, he tried to feel pleased at how she was finally showing him formality and respect. It didn't work.

* * *

Somehow he'd lost her, even if she was still here.

When he finally pieced together why she was acting so distant, what had almost happened, what he'd missed out on, he wanted to kick himself.

Yet at the same time, he'd still have no idea what to do with the moment even if he'd known how to work his way back to it.

When he finally realized that he'd been so frightened that he'd gone so far as to convince himself it wasn't in fact happening at all, the thought crossed his mind that he should probably see a shrink. But how he'd bungled things up was so painfully embarrassing that he could barely even admit it to himself, let alone pay somebody tall fees to talk about it out loud.

And now she'd showed him that she'd come to her senses. The train had left the station, and by all accounts it hadn't even stopped there for more than a couple of seconds anyway.

He should've treaded more carefully. There had been signs for a long time, even before they saved the world, that she was contemplating a change, that she needed something more, whether she'd been aware of it herself or not. Leaving him in prison, teaming up with other villains, helping Kim Possible just to beat his new alien sidekick, not having anything against saving the world—

It seemed to him that she hadn't known what she'd wanted, and probably still didn't, but when she'd finally begun to figure it out a little, he'd interrupted her, trodden on her tail, made her outright dismiss her already fragile ideas about him, her, and the future.

And here it came. All the destructive force of having these useless feelings.

* * *

When she peered into his bedroom, he was lying on his back on his bed, spread-eagled, dressed in his usual lab gear, but with the collar undone and his thick protective gloves clutched loosely in one hand. His door had been wide open, as if he hoped somebody would stop by. Or maybe he'd just forgotten to close it.

Either way, she went inside. The room was mostly dark, except for the dim glow of his bedside lamp and the light streaming in from the hallway. She sighed; it looked like a possible moping atmosphere.

"What now? Did ya throw your back out again?"

He looked up; he seemed surprised, but not startled. "Hello, Shego," he said, then laid his head down again. "Long time no see."

She simply shrugged; decided not to comment.

"Did you know," he began slowly, "that back in 1998, I stole a bottle of champagne? _Real_ champagne, I mean, not just fizzy party water."

"Uh…Dr. Drakken? You going anywhere with this story?"

"I stole that champagne to celebrate my world domination," he continued, voice turning wistful, "and now it's 2008, and I still haven't opened it. In fact, it's not even the original bottle. I've had to replace it at least twice due to my lairs blowing up all the time."

She tilted her head at him. "So…what? You given up or something?"

He was quiet for a moment before he sighed. "Just saying, that's all. "

She continued to frown at his face; he stared up into the ceiling. "Well…then what's going on? Are we making another attempt?"

For a second, he froze, his face taking on an expression she couldn't quite read. He pushed himself up on his elbows. "Making another attempt at…?" he asked, a timid note in his question.

All of a sudden, her head felt hot, but she managed to merely look annoyed. She was _not _going there. It was pointless. "_Hello_, taking over the _world_?"

There was another stretch of silence, during which he simply stared at her, so many things going on in his eyes that she couldn't catch a single one of them; then his expression went carefully blank.

He cleared his throat gruffly; the sound was almost jarring. "Right. The world."

"Got any ideas?" she asked, uneasy now.

"Uh, no…I've decided my brain and I are taking the day off."

"Dr. Drakken, you didn't even take the day off the time you had that concussion after hitting the train tunnel roof face first."

His brow rose. "Exactly."

"I guess I'll just leave you to your thoughts, then," she mumbled, starting for the door.

"You know, I figured…"

She turned. "Yeah?"

A slow sigh rolled in his throat and nestled somewhere in his chest. "After having saved the world and all…wouldn't it be a waste to try to rule it again?"

Shego spent a long time in the doorway, her face half-obscured by the darkness, just staring at him. In the end, the scrutiny had apparently begun to shake him out of his detached, dreamy state, because he sat up and stared back.

Finally, he cleared his throat again, affecting loud impatience for her answer.

She simply shrugged and walked away.

She didn't know, either.

* * *

So now they were stuck at some kind of mid- to low-level of villainy, knocking over banks, stealing things because they could, scamming a couple of companies just to be able to roll in money (as well as pay for the lairs, the henchmen and the cleaning staff).

It wasn't actually fun, however.

There had been another change. Shego didn't banter with him anymore.

She did, however, banter with everyone else. And with gusto.

When she delivered a particularly zesty zinger to the cheerleader and her blonde boyfriend one Tuesday night, Drakken found himself picking them up with his vines and slamming them against the wall with far more force than necessary. As Shego tied them up, he realized he was gnashing his teeth.

* * *

She couldn't do it anymore. What "it" was, she wasn't sure. Trying to take over the world? Being a full-time villain? Never knowing when she'd be thrown back in prison? Contemplating some sort of relationship with her boss? Or even relating to him at all on a daily or weekly basis?

Whatever it was, she didn't even _want_ to anymore. At some point, the will had just sort of…dropped out of her, trailing behind her like bread crumbs until her pockets were empty. And she didn't want to turn around and retrace her steps. Didn't want to walk that path again.

She was only twenty-eight. Shouldn't _he_ be the one having a mid-life crisis? Shouldn't he be the one who craved change? Was he such a creature of habit? Or did he want change, but was just too much of a doofus to express it? There had been changes, of course, as they were currently not making attempts at global domination, but they didn't feel like changes. It felt like walking in the same circles, only smaller this time. And sure, she'd fought the Lorwardians, and sure, he would've probably been dead if not for her...but the _real_ fallout from that saving-the-world gig? The offers he was still getting from various scientific institutions about his super hypollenator mutagen? They had absolutely nothing to do with her and her career.

She'd intended to quit her job. She'd intended to hand in her resignation.

But then she'd figured that it didn't matter. They worked together so little these days that her old job would hardly interfere with any new projects she'd feel like pursuing. There was no need to quit, really.

She knew she hadn't done enough, but at least she'd done something. She might not have been fair, might not have given him a chance, but even the thought of actually explaining, of actually _admitting_, when he'd been looking at her like that, when she knew he'd handle her offers and her questions with all the grace of a drunken elephant…

Well, the thought made her nauseous, and it was only here, alone in the dark of her bedroom, that she could concede that what had happened had already hurt, and if she'd continued, it would only have hurt more.

She knew it was cowardly, knew she might've tried, but she just couldn't see it, couldn't visualize it turning out right— and not just the first stage, the admittance, but anything at all at this point. And she had no idea what was going on inside his crazy head in any case. How would a relationship even _work_? Wasn't it better to just fade away rather than expose herself and be rejected, either because he didn't want what she might want or because he was too much of a spaz to deal with it?

There was no need for a dramatic exit.

_**To be continued.**_

* * *

**Author's notes: **This story idea had been knocking around on my computer since about 2009/2010. It's meant to be an exploration of the kind of Drakken who couldn't even hug Shego after she'd gone up into space to save him, and the kind of Shego who immediately and awkwardly backed away. I just thought it would be "fun" if they both did absolutely everything wrong. More than usual, I mean.

I tried something slightly different with the writing style this time. Hope it worked out.

**I'd like to give credit to my beta reader on this story, Oldandnewfirm.** Thank you! :) Be sure to check out her wonderful Drakken/Shego illustrations on deviantART.

**Then there was the fact that he'd gone crazy wondering what she'd been up to during her Attitudinated week of absence:** "Stop Team Go", season 4.

**Why couldn't DNAmy just have said yes that one time, so he'd be far away somewhere, making science babies?: **"Partners", season 2.

—**cupcakes, cupcakes, cupcakes, no, she hadn't liked it when he'd packed on the pounds with Hank's leftover stock:** "Odds Man In", season 4.

**And once, when he couldn't come up with a villainous plan to keep them occupied, to turn to another method of ignoring her; devoting himself to getting all the floors in his lair refinished:** See the end tag to the episode "Larry's Birthday", season 4.

"**Dr. Drakken, you didn't even take the day off the time you had that concussion after hitting the train tunnel roof face first.":** "Clean Slate", season 4.


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

* * *

This was the first villain convention he'd ever attended without Shego since they'd met.

Every year, they'd been here. Last year, they'd even gone to a separate HenchCo demonstration together.

This year, he was here alone.

She, however, was not.

Villains of every level were swarming around her like Wall Street brokers, shouting their offers with their hands waving in the air.

"Shego! Hey, over here, Shego!"

"Miss Shego, if you can spare just _five_ minutes—"

Small time crooks who wanted to climb the villainous ladder, experienced villains who wanted an advantage against Kim Possible, and the cream of the crop, some of whom probably just wanted to annoy Drakken—

"Fraülein Shego! Let'z talk benefitz! Ve can offer you a much better contract zan zat zilly Dr. Drahken! I know you _muzt_ be doing ze considering of your options now zat he is nicht in ze BIG WORLD DOMINATION LEAGUEZ ANYMORE!"

Okay, that was _it_!

Stalking up to the crowd, Drakken shocked both himself and Dementor by punching Dementor's lights out. Then he proceeded to scatter the rest by snarling and pulling out a small annihilation ray he'd managed to sneak past the understaffed security.

"VULTURES!" he spat after them, so enraged he barely remembered to re-conceal his weapon before he was spotted.

When he spun around to face Shego, she appeared merely bored. Or resigned. He couldn't tell which.

His hand throbbed. He'd been smart enough to hit Dementor's chin, not his metal helmet, but even the man himself wasn't exactly made of marshmallow.

"Have you had these sorts of offers before?" he demanded.

Shego nodded. She may as well have yawned.

"Well, what did you say?"

A shrug. "Eh, I've thought about it."

"_And_?"

Another shrug. "Why bother? It'd just be going from one sidekick gig to another."

Drakken sagged with relief. "Yes! Exactly!"

For a drawn-out moment, she gave him an odd, faraway sort of look, but just when he was about to ask what was the matter, she seemed to snap out of it. "Right. Whatever, I'm gonna go get a soda. Heads up, by the way…I think that security guard might've seen you decking Dementor."

It was only when she'd walked away that he realized the tone she'd used to reply to his questions just didn't sound right.

He was used to her sounding blasé, but this was on a whole new level of carelessness.

Frankly, it reminded him of the time when his mother had asked him whether he wanted to go on to play a team sport or if he wanted to continue in the school band.

He'd basically answered "meh". He'd been fourteen and hadn't cared either way. It hadn't been a matter of which organized group activity to choose, but rather that he was sick of organized group activities in general.

She wasn't just bored with him or restless in an ordinary sort of way, he saw now, she was also disillusioned with the entire business. And he had no idea how to bring about change, neither between them nor in their trade of choice. He feared she didn't know either, even if he'd dared to ask her, which he didn't. The last time, when he'd risked asking her about global domination, it had made things just a little worse. If he brought attention to the lack of change again, to the fact that they might have a reason to fall apart, it might only make it happen faster.

* * *

"What do you want?" he demanded, as she walked into his lair, over a month later. "Where have you been? No, wait, I don't care— TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT! IS IT MORE MONEY? I HAVE MORE MONEY!"

He immediately knew what the trouble was when he saw her face. He wasn't Drakken anymore, but a slobbering, screeching cave troll again. She could hear him, she could see him, but she couldn't understand anything he was saying. It was cave troll language, loud and angry and thunderous. He'd stopped using words. Vines were sprouting from his back like tails. Troll tails.

She wasn't Shego anymore, either. Because the normal Shego might've fired a blast or two at him if he started barking at her like that the second she stepped foot inside. No, she was a stray cat pretending to be a tame cat, a stray cat that could take care of itself and only wandered into its owner's house when it was cold outside and the world was low on mice (goodness forbid it could be because she needed a warm lap).

And stray cats couldn't hold a sensible conversation with cave trolls. They didn't speak the same language. And the cat could tell that the cave troll had worked itself up into a frenzy alone while the cat was gone; that it was perhaps about to cry. Cats didn't like crying at the best of times, but when it was a cave troll doing it, well…then it definitely wouldn't be pretty.

"I'll…come back later," she muttered, slinking out the door, silently and softly, as if it was indeed a cat flap.

She didn't return. Cats couldn't hold their promises, and in any case, cave trolls deserved none.

* * *

Dr. Drakken stood outside in the driving rain, drenched, but strangely imposing as his tall, broad figure nearly blocked her doorway. All he needed to make the cheesy thriller movie image complete was a flash of lightning illuminating the dark night and throwing his scarred face into sharp relief, she thought, mentally rolling her eyes. Instead, he was illuminated by the soft light from the antique lamp on her hallway dresser.

It couldn't be an emergency, she reasoned, or surely he'd have been hugging her knees and wailing already.

"Did you break the toaster?" he asked then, and she blinked at him, her brows knitting.

What threw her wasn't just the fact that he was there in the middle of the night or the fact that she hadn't even given him this address. For a moment, she thought he'd actually said something completely different, as if this was a film where the subtitles and the dialogue didn't match up. His body language and his voice, not to mention the lateness of the hour, didn't synchronize with the simple question. All kinds of other questions seemed to lurk inside him.

"I barely even _eat_ toast," she blurted out, "and besides, I haven't even been to the lair in—"

"Five weeks."

"Exactly," she said, still staring.

He wiped his wet face irritably with his sleeve, in the relatively dry crook of his elbow. "I have a job for you. We _do_ still have a contract, right?"

"_Hello_ to the missing segue," she muttered. "And you're telling me this at three am…_why_?"

This seemed to give him pause, finally. "What are you talking about? It's only—" He checked his watch before glancing at her with a defensive frown. "Three fourteen am. Right."

She groaned; the body clock was obviously the first thing that went bye bye when you got into mad science (at least without anybody to keep you in check). She wanted to yell at him that she had to get up early, but at this stage in the development, that would be giving away too much. Her secrets were never his, even back then. "How did you even _get _this address?" she demanded, pulling her robe tighter around her body.

His brow rose. "You've been working with me for all these years and you need to ask how or if I can get a hold of information?"

She pursed her lips, deciding to change gears. "What do you want?"

The words echoed across a yawning gap of five weeks.

_What do you want? Where have you been?_

Suddenly, he couldn't speak. Suddenly, his plans were trickling out his ears, dripping down his shoulders with the rest of the rainwater.

Only now did he notice that her hair was tousled, her eyes bleary; the usually perfectly groomed cat disturbed from its nap.

It occurred to him he'd barely slept the last two or three days. Which was probably why he'd stumbled heedlessly along to her place, all the way on the other side of town, completely forgetting that they were a cave troll and a cat.

He had a job for her? Really? How could there still be work left to be done, together?

He turned, poised to walk away in a daze, when her hand touched his arm. Small, strong.

"Dr. D…are you okay?"

He must be a cave troll, he decided, because he'd turned to stone, pierced by the sun.

When she turned him around, slowly, tears were actually streaming down his face. He blinked rapidly at her, drawing a shivering breath.

For a second, she looked almost as flabbergasted; then she gave an explosive sigh. "Come on, Dr. D— get a _grip_, will ya?"

At this, he uttered only a choked little grunt.

"What _now_?"

Shaking his head in vehement, embarrassed dismissal, he flapped a hand at her as he turned and practically jogged back into the rain.

She hadn't called him 'Dr. D' in _months_.

* * *

She came back, for a few days or so. Stole some things for him, shook the increasingly complacent henchmen up a bit. Listened to him rant. Didn't say much, and he didn't ask any questions.

He wanted to ask her what her angle was, why she was back, being what could only be described as almost helpful. He even wanted to ask her if maybe she wasn't wearing some sort of behavior modification device, but he didn't want to remind either of them of the Moodulator incident ever again. Especially not now. He also wasn't keen on a quick trip to the burn ward.

She spoke less than usual, just kind of hovered, was just kind of _there_. As if she was testing the waters. As if he, and his lair, were a new dress and a new pair of heels that she was trying on for size, that she was trying to figure out if she could afford because they were from a fancy store. Or not really _afford_, as she always had plenty of money. No, maybe the store was in fact not fancy _enough_, maybe the dress and heels were a big fashion risk. So rather, she wanted to find out whether she'd be wasting her money.

When her three-day trial was up, she left again.

No sale.

It occurred to him that he should've been pushier, that he should've given her the discount card, told her all the benefits, told her she looked great in it, and that it went with everything— instead, he'd just stood there, grumpy and jaded, a terrible example of customer service. He'd been working there for too long, spoiled by years of taking things for granted.

He couldn't take action. Well, what did she expect, anyway? He wasn't the— the _action-person_, he was the _thinker_! Action was what he hired _her_ for!

Except, how true was that? Hadn't he been there, right along with her, right in the middle of all the fighting and the explosions? And hadn't she always tried to butt into his thinking with her common sense?

Still! She'd had every chance for three whole days, so why couldn't _she_ have said something, if she was supposed to be so _tough_? Why was it _his_ job, all of a sudden? Why couldn't _she_ have said something, if she really wanted— whatever it was, if she wanted— right, because she still— didn't she?

No, she'd done her part in this new, yet already half-dead thing between them. It hadn't been much, and it had been cowardly and hard to understand, but at least it had been _something_. And she'd kept returning.

_He _had done nothing.

When she'd been here this time, she'd felt like a visitor, like she didn't live here anymore. A visitor waiting for something. And he'd done nothing, and now it might already be too late. She might be done with returning.

* * *

Early one morning, when he'd stayed up all night working on improving his super hypollenator mutagen for the government in case of another alien invasion (for a generous sum, of course), he switched the television on for company as he ate his breakfast.

A commercial blared, making him wince. He was about to change the channel when something about the colour scheme of the ad caught his interest.

"Is this _you_? Are super heroes, spies, government agents and so-called freelance justice fighters always getting past your security? Are your relatives stopping by uninvited? Are other super villains always stealing from you and getting away with it? Then contact SheCo! Our henchpeople are trained in weaponry, high-tech security systems and hand-to-hand combat— that's sixteen styles of kung fu, not just your old-fashioned fist fighting! But that's not all! The best part is that they're highly trained to improvise and think for themselves! We guarantee that these are not the Neanderthals you're used to dealing with! But don't worry, that doesn't mean they won't listen to their evil masters! They're all professionals! Call SheCo today, and your henchmen and henchwomen— that's right, we're _equal opportunity_, unlike _some_— won't ever be fooled by silly disguises or fake ID's again! We promise you won't have to give vigilantes in the ventilation system another thought! And hey, wanna go after your enemies? Our henchpeople are always ready to travel!"

This upbeat message, accompanied by demonstrative, zippy images, was followed by a screen covered in contact information, a black and green SheCo logo, and as a small picture of the confidently smirking company founder.

This was it, his sleep-deprived brain told him, she was disappearing.

There still had to be hope, though. After all, she hadn't worked for somebody else or spent all her time with some hipster Fabio. In the time between then and now, she'd built herself a tiny empire. She'd brought about change all on her own.

Without informing him.

She'd finally left him, and she hadn't kept him in the loop despite the fact that he was technically still her employer. Considering he was a villain, Drakken supposed he should want revenge on her.

He didn't. Some would probably say he'd gone soft, but if they did, he had a piranha pit with their names on it. He didn't care. He just wanted her around again.

And whether he liked it or not, he had to move. Now.

So that was how he found himself on some middle floor in her office building. He'd scammed his way through security using any number of fake ID's and phony appointment excuses. And then, to get on the other side of the last door, he'd used his plants to force his way through. It hadn't even occurred to him to call her up and arrange a meeting. Super villains didn't do that, and certainly not sleep-starved cave trolls (and perhaps some vengeful, wounded part of him had wanted to show her he wasn't so predictable).

And now here he was, faced by rows of chairs occupied by people in business suits, and there…her, at the head, leading, still wearing all green and black, but in a completely different style than usual. Her hair, which had always been big, had now been tamed, swept away from her face and pinned up. She looked mature, untouchable.

She seemed so far away, at the other end of that long meeting room table, that he had the urge to call out for her. Like the good old days, when he needed her to save him from mortal peril, or at least a reasonable amount of pain.

"SHEGO! I LOVE YOU!"

And there it was, his full transition into a cave troll. And he hadn't even brought his club.

Judging by the crowd, they probably thought he'd had a large helping of liquid courage for lunch or something. It _was_ lunchtime, right? It was hard to keep track of time these days.

"H-how— HOW THE HELL DARE YOU?" she exploded, sounding hurt, shocked, intimidated and enraged all at the same time. Nothing like herself.

"…what?" The cave troll was slow and couldn't make an excuse; tell her it had only meant to bellow her name. The flowers on the end of his vines wilted; he sensed the plants retract, go into hiding.

"How can you just show up, here, now, in the middle of a meeting, after nearly two frickin' _years_, and expect— what's _wrong_ with you?"

He spluttered. "Two years? What are you even—"

Again, the troll turned to stone. Had it been nearly two years? Frantically, his mind began adding all the little breaks and gaps together, a few days here, a few weeks there, a couple of months and— no matter how he looked at it, he refused to believe it, couldn't comprehend this reality—

The expensive-looking calendar on the wall told him otherwise. It was already 2009. Nearly summer. Later this year, she was turning thirty.

Lost in his own cave, he'd somehow managed to stay away for months this time.

"I mean, not to mention I'm already dating somebody now!" she informed him, pushing him further into the real world.

His stomach dropped. "You're— _who_?"

Her tiny, green fist slammed down on the mahogany table top. "None of your business!"

And he realized that no, maybe it wasn't anymore. If it ever even had been. Nearly two years had passed since they'd started falling apart, since she'd attempted…_something_, and he'd ruined it. It wasn't his place.

He left before security could throw him out. With shattered legs, the cave troll dragged himself home on his belly, crushing bugs and flowers on its way. Cursing everything and himself most of all.

_**To be concluded.**_

* * *

**Author's notes: **Coulda, shoulda, woulda…he coulda said it _that_ time, she coulda said it that _other_ time, but they didn't, and so on and so forth…

**Last year, they'd even gone to a separate HenchCo demonstration together:** "Grande Size Me", season 4.


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

* * *

The next morning, he forced himself to roll out of his bedding of animal skins and dead leaves. As he shuffled onwards in search of sustenance, he groaned, brushing lichen and twigs from his loin cloth and straggly troll hair. It was as if all the outpouring of emotion, all the public humiliation, all the vulnerability he couldn't take back, had transformed into alcohol in his bloodstream. His head pounded, his gut squirmed, his legs unsteady.

And there to see his lowest point, there Shego was, sitting on the couch in the lab, watching TV. Her hair down once more, as if she'd never left.

And he'd been _so_ certain he'd uninstalled the cat flap. He rubbed his eyes to see if she was just remnants of the Sandman. She was still there when he looked again.

"I'm not staying," she said simply, switching off the TV. No greeting, nothing.

"Oh, I _counted_ on you not staying," he spat; poisonous, hot bile sprayed out and melted the floor by her feet. It had just been refinished, too. No, wait…that had been over two years ago. "In fact, I don't even know why you're here in the first place."

"I'm here," she said, walking across the disintegrating floor without getting a mark on her, "to take you with me."

The cave troll made a quizzical sound. The floor stopped sizzling and remained as shiny as ever. Well, nearly as shiny as two years ago.

Cats were antisocial. They didn't take anybody anywhere. They moved alone.

It must have thought it was a knight, and that the cave troll was a prince to be saved.

"Right!" the cave troll chirped acidly, feeling almost like Drakken again. "I'll just drop everything and we'll be on our merry way, then! It's not like I was doing anything!" He clapped his hands together. "So, since we're moving in together and all, I'm assuming you've procured a dream home for us and that we'll be spending the day picking out china patterns together! I can't wait! Ooh, hang on, _here's_ a small bump in the road— I don't think there's enough room in the hover car for your _boyfriend_!"

His upbeat production of Sarcasm on Ice was met with ringing silence. Then she began to slowly cook his innards with her eyes, looking as if she was trying to think up a suitable spice to garnish them with. He thought their stuffing of liquid fear would go well with basil and garlic.

She crossed her arms on her chest, as if she wanted a fence over which to glare at him. "I don't _have_…a boyfriend."

"But you said—"

"I said I was _dating_ somebody."

"So? By my book, you're still not really available. " He waved a hand, his expression souring. "Am I supposed to think that you're willing to dump him for me? And that you won't regret it and slink out again?"

Her exterior was oddly serene, but in a way that seemed like the edges of a wound being held together. "You said you loved me."

"I know," he pressed out, through a thick layer of shame and nausea. He must be as green as her now. "I was there. So was most of your staff, if I recall correctly."

The arm fence dropped, as did her gaze. "Well…the past year, I've played cards with my business associates a lot. And I figure an 'I love you' kinda trumps a 'let's go make out in the back of the theater'."

He flinched. He hadn't wanted to know about other hands on her, but now he did. "Making out at the movies? Who the heck are you dating, a big teenager?"

"Apparently. And now I've just dumped him for a big child. Tell me, is that a trade-up?"

Drakken looked up, met her sharp eyes, as green as ever. Pine needle green, unripe lime green, poison green.

Cats didn't keep their promises, but they respected promises made by others.

"Look, we're done here, I don't wanna stay here, and neither—" She walked straight up to him, then, put her finger on his nose, pushing, as if it was the button with which to switch him on, like a robot. "—do you."

He brushed her hand away. "Oh, I don't, do I? And I suppose you can read minds?"

Cats always looked like they could.

She shrugged. "I just figure we've been trying it your way forever, so maybe it's time to try mine. I know you can be a business man. I've seen you at the white collar evil, and heck…back then you were more into it than me. If I hadn't insisted on going forward with the plan when you were getting all sidetracked, who knows where we'd be today, the money we'd have? Well, you know, apart from that whole thing where carbs were suddenly untrendy, but we could've always switched our product from cupcakes to something else— ugh, okay, speaking of getting sidetracked— anyway— I just know I need a chief scientist." She met his eyes with determination, as if she was forcing herself to say her next piece. "A really good one. A genius. It just didn't really occur to me before to hire you."

"Your way?" he demanded, confused and defiant. On the one hand, what she was suggesting sounded sensible, especially since he knew he was in a rut, but on the other, she was being so insistent, barging in here, telling him to throw everything from the past away, deeming it worthless— wasn't that what she was saying? Or was it? That last bit had almost sounded like a compliment.

"Yeah. Also?" She cocked her head at him, one hand going to her hip. "My way has more sex in it. Although that isn't really difficult, considering yours has _none_."

The cave troll got dry mouth. "Nnnrrrhhpphh?"

Cats! They talked of fornication so casually, pretending there wasn't more to it. Then again, he supposed they were better than cave trolls, who pretended there was no sex at all and nothing more complicated either.

At the same time as it made him cringe, he was absurdly grateful for her tactlessness. The skulls of cave trolls were thick and their wits slow in such matters. Maybe that was why she'd brought an ice pick. Here she was, spelling it out, making it easier for him: If they managed to be friends again, live together again, then they wouldn't just be friends.

"I've got a new, bigger place," she offered, gesturing around herself as she continued, "smaller than this one, but with less pointless moats and empty hallways, and it's easier to keep heated. I thought you could live there with me until I figure out if I want to accept your offer." Then she added emphatically, "The sex would come_ later_, if at all. Definitely not now. _Sooo_ not now."

"My offer?" This baffled him; he couldn't remember making any.

Her eyebrows challenged him. "And here I thought you said you were there when you stormed into my office and declared your everlasting—"

"All right! All right!" He waved his hands frantically. "Knock it off! I get it! Look, I was full of caffeine and functioning on forty-five minutes of sleep and—"

She chuckled. "And the voices in your head told you to do it, I know, I know."

"Harrrummpphh!"

"Anyway…" And here her voice went soft and her fingers suddenly found her hair annoying and he wondered if everything she'd said and done today had mostly been a front. She sounded almost hoarse when she spoke next. "That was…pretty much what I came here to say. You can…you know, leave with me now, or catch up later, or…not show up at all. That's kinda your call."

This was beginning to sound too incredible an offer, so he decided to see if he could tempt the fates further. "You said 'chief scientist'. Would there be a big laboratory, at your place of business? Just for me? Where I'd be in charge?"

She actually smiled a bit at that, as if she'd wanted, waited for him to ask. "There already is. There's a married couple in charge there now. They're giant egg heads with massive technical skills but no creativity, so they're just aching for new ideas. They'd just about pee themselves if a world-saving Nobel prize winner walked in the room, evil or not. We wanna branch out, cater to more villainous needs…not just security. We think we can be a serious contender for HenchCo, but we need to expand Research and Development. That's where you come in." Her chin rose, her shoulders squaring. He could almost picture sitting next to her at a meeting already. "I know you've been busy, accumulating assets and contacts in the science world. I'd like you to come invest in me. I'm suggesting a merger. If nothing else, I can pretty much guarantee you that nobody would dare steal from your lab— you'd have the best security money can buy."

He studied her face for a long while, momentarily recalling sending her out to steal from Jack Hench, way back when. It had been so easy for her, and now she'd apparently gathered everything she'd learned about HenchCo's mistakes…and removed them.

But mostly all he could think was: _She put in a lab_. Of course, every self-respecting super villain _had_ to have a lab, even white collar super villains, but still…she'd put in a lab.

_I've been working on a sort of stabilizer for doomsday devices_, he wanted to tell her, _because they do always seem to blow up, or melt down, they're so volatile—_

That wasn't what he told her at all.

"I love you," he said, solemnly, not screaming this time, and properly taking her hand. As one should. As one did, if one weren't him. A cave troll. A big child.

Now he watched her knees buckle, her hands tremble, her breath catch— without her actually doing any of those things. He could still see them there, circling her calm exterior like ghosts.

Then one of them possessed her, making her face turn a slow pale pink. "Okay, so that's…too soon. That's the road to…not good things."

His face had also lost its usual deathly complexion now, burning. "You're the one who insisted on bringing it up. It's not like I needed the reminder, either. And _I_ was far from comfortable with you mentioning the horizontal bop out of nowhere! We're getting the order all wrong."

She snatched her hand from his grasp. "Getting the order wrong? Doy! Out of nowhere, you yelled that you loved me, _in public_, before we'd even gone on a single date, or kissed, or even _talked_ about it— so _maybe_ I was just trying to shake you as badly as you shook me?" Then her voice lost its sharpness, its volume: "And as for bringing it up again, I was just…trying to get used to the idea of it all. To see if that was something I could be around."

Something about the way she said it, guarded and un-Shegoish, made him worry that she'd made up her mind already, but she just didn't know it yet. He gulped. "And now you can't?"

"No, now I can't decide." She shook her head, pointing at him. "So you do it. The last thing you get to decide for me. Do we try living together again? Yes or no?"

Shrinking back slightly, he presented his hands to her, palms up. "Look, I don't want— if you don't want—"

"Just do it!"

"Y-yes? YES! Okay? Yes!"

Nodding, she seemed to radiate surprise, but also grim resignation. "Great. That's just— great."

Watching her now, he had to wonder if the not-quite-certainty, the _uncertainty_ he saw in her face now, if he'd also sensed it in her back then. Back when she'd first tried to move them forward. If that was part of why he'd been scared, because of these nerves of hers, or whether he was fabricating an excuse now, in hindsight. Or both.

"Really? I still don't— if you don't—"

Her eyes were big, her fingers twitching; she shoved her hands behind her back. "I dunno, it's just…do you _actually_…you know, lo— l-love me? I mean, you've got a pretty _active_ imagination, and I know mad scientist minds, they can get pretty cluttered—"

"Oh, so you weren't just_ joking_ about the voices in my head, then?"

Shego rolled her eyes. "Dr. D…"

"I think I should feel insulted." And he was, and it hurt even if it was only a product of her nervousness, but he wanted to move on, couldn't afford more setbacks.

"Look, just…" She groaned, looking wretched. "…just answer the question, okay?"

He cocked his head at her. "What do you want?"

She frowned. "How do you mean?"

"Do you want it to be true that I love you?"

Again, she gave him one of her long, silent looks. "All I know is…I guess I'm willing to try and see if I want that."

For a moment, he simply studied her. Then, haltingly: "Shego…why did you leave?"

"Lots of reasons." She hesitated, swallowed; either taking her time to think, or merely procrastinating her answer. "My life was dull and repetitive, I couldn't see a future in our work or with you, and in the end…well, after inventing the thing that saved the world, you _were_ somebody. I think I decided I wanted to be somebody, too. The woman who revolutionized the industry." Here she glanced at him suspiciously, as if waiting for him to scoff at her ambitions, at what might sound like pomposity; to somehow get back at her for years of mocking. When he only gestured impatiently for her to move her story along, she did. "Build a better henchman, Hench always says, but when you take a closer look at his henchmen? Yeah, no. Even if they're buff, they still don't know martial arts, barely a little kickboxing, they just follow the leader pretty blindly, they don't learn to take the initiative, although they should know you don't always have time to wait for an order, in the heat of the moment— also, if you've seen my commercial, then— yeah, where are all the hench_women_? Jeez...!" She shook her head. "I guess I was tired of complaining and wanted to _do_ something about this business for once, whatever I _could_ do."

"Do you enjoy your new work?"

Surprised at the sincere interest, she nodded. "You know, I really do? It's actually pretty satisfying. Teaching, instructing, watching people improve, creating less idiotic henchmen and henchwomen, making sure they actually like their jobs so they won't get all mutinous— not to mention building something that's all mine and that's already making an obscene amount of money. And hey, I'd be lying if I didn't say I enjoy the yelling and bossing people around." She grinned, then, before taking on a serious expression. "Also, I'm all for job satisfaction, but you have to add a dash of fear in the training, too, so they'll keep in line and so you'll know they'll handle their jobs later. It's a tricky balance. Keeps things interesting."

Yes, this was clearly her baby.

It hurt that he'd never really heard her quite this enthusiastic before, but at the same time, it made him hopeful. Forced his gaze from the end of his own nose and far into the future.

He drew a breath. "Well, then. I'll have to go pack, won't I?"

She exhaled. "Right."

"There are still a few of your things lying around here, too, by the way."

"I know," she said, already on her way to her old room.

* * *

A week or so later, she was about to leave for work, dressed in her favorite dark green business suit (the one with the black shirt, tailored slacks and her most expensive and most comfortable dress shoes, perfect for long days), when he tumbled into the kitchen. Trailing papers behind him, he wore nothing but pajamas and a manic grin.

She paused in picking up her keys and her briefcase to take it all in. For a moment, it was just like old times.

"Shego! Take a look! I've been working on a sort of stabilizer for doomsday devices— you know, to stop them from always blowing up, or melting down, or fizzling out, right? And when you mentioned wanting to branch out— well, I know firsthand that there's a market for this! Why, I can already see the commercial now!"

Shego laughed out loud at the abruptness of his rambling speech, first thing in the morning, and the warm, weird familiarity of having him lay out one of his plans for her again. It made her want to finally admit that things hadn't been the same without him.

"Gah, slow down, Doc, it's only eight am and I'm already gonna hafta listen to potential investors all day— but hey, um, apart from all that, you know what?" _I think I might've actually missed this._ "I love you."

There was a rustle as the rest of his notes fluttered to the floor.

Usually, she didn't cower from anybody, but now she shrank as if somehow trying to cower from herself. Her free hand grabbed on to the back of a chair to steady her as her knees gave a little. She still clutched her keys, the metal teeth starting to dig into her palm. Her briefcase remained on the table.

The commercial for doomsday device stabilizers, which he'd claimed to envision so clearly just seconds before, was apparently forgotten. He didn't even seem to notice having dropped his notes. She had the urge to bend down and pick them up, to do anything to keep herself occupied, to force a feeling of normality, but all of a sudden her arms were as rigid as logs.

As he gaped openly at her, she swallowed. Forcing her body to move, she collapsed on the chair, and tossed her keys on the table so she could bury her face in her hands. Then she moaned as if she'd just worked a twelve-hour day in uncomfortable shoes.

Drakken continued to stare at her. Her face was hidden now, but the kaleidoscope of emotions that had moved across it just seconds ago was still burned into his retina.

Apparently, cats didn't even know they could be cave trolls, and cave trolls didn't always recognize their own.

Drakken tried to keep his voice casual when he spoke next, but it came out timid. "Okay…are you freaking out because what you just said is true, or because…it's _not_ and you wish you hadn't said it?"

Shego looked up slowly, glassy-eyed. "I think _neither_ of us shoulda said it. Not yet. It's all messed up now."

He drew a shaky breath and tried, "But if we _feel_ it—"

She sighed in a sort of resignation. "Let's just…start with trying to have a conversation about something other than doomsday devices, contractual obligations or Kim Possible for once, okay?"

He smiled wryly at her. "Funny, seeing as that's probably what we'll be talking about from now on, anyway, if I start working with you again."

She shot up from her chair. "Then _you_ think of something!"

And he actually did. He'd always been so good at ideas, which was why it'd been so frustrating that he hadn't managed to think up a single workable plan when it came to her. Of course, at first he hadn't even wanted to acknowledge _what_ he wanted, but after that…oh, yes, he'd had plenty of time. And still…nothing, not until now.

"This is two years too late, you know," she murmured into his shoulder.

He merely tightened his hold on her. When her arms went up to reciprocate the embrace, he let all pretense slide and sighed, burying his nose in her hair. She wasn't a cat, she was a woman. Shego. Whole, solid, clutching.

It didn't dawn on him until now, here, that he'd had his head so far up his ass that he hadn't even been aware he'd rejected her not just once, but twice.

He pressed his face to her crown, trying to breathe normally and failing. It still felt like a close call.

"This should've been a space hug," she went on, voice muffled further by the fabric of his pajamas. "Later, I thought it was funny, in a pathetic kinda way…how we couldn't figure things out anywhere on Earth, and not even out in space. We seemed pretty doomed."

He hummed his agreement, drunk on her warmth and her scent and the reassuring pressure of her arms. He'd known she'd given up. Yet she hadn't quite let go, so she hadn't quite left. If she'd been dealing with impossible odds for years, working for him, how could they truly have scared her?

But even so…

If he'd been there a week or two later, would it have been too late? Would she have moved on?

"You sure you weren't happier with Mr. Movie Make-outs?"

There was a brittle chuckle. "If you're asking if you almost lost me, then yeah…I think maybe you did. If you're asking if you almost lost me to _him…_then _no_, you_ gotta_ be kidding me."

She let go, smoothing down her hair. "I should get going. I have a meeting at nine."

He felt as if the moment needed some closure, however, so he offered, "I could come by later. A tour would be useful."

After some brief hesitation, she nodded. "Anytime after lunch is fine. See you at…oh, let's say one o'clock?" She grinned, and added, "I'll be your personal guide."

Then she was out the door. He wondered if that had been flirting. Cave trolls weren't good at recognizing it.

He definitely needed a guide.

The first thing he noticed during the tour was a small picture of him, printed out and taped to the wall behind the front desk. It hung right above a big patch of photographs of HenchCo employees who'd made attempts at infiltrating SheCo. His mind just hadn't registered this reproduction of his face the first go 'round. So he hadn't been as suave as he'd thought, then, when 'breaking and entering'. They'd known who he was. Made sense that it shouldn't have been that easy, considering who their boss was, and that the company specialized in security. The interesting thing about it, though, was how they'd, apart from not letting him interrupt a board meeting, allowed him access to more or less the inner sanctum of the company.

He wondered whether she'd hoped he'd show up one day, or if she'd merely expected it, and hadn't wanted him to cause a fuss when he did.

* * *

When she got home after a long and tiring press conference, he sat in the kitchen, waiting for her. Being the infamous Dr. Drakken and the head of DrakCo, the science branch of the mother company SheCo, he'd also had his share of interviews, but she'd been stuck with the bulk of them. She was after all the head and founder of the entire company (and had a higher TV IQ, but he didn't need to know that, he'd pout for days).

When she'd kicked off her shoes and dropped her bag on the table, she sagged onto a chair, immensely relieved to not only be done for the day, but to find that he hadn't gone to bed yet. She didn't even bother ignoring the warm flutter in her belly. He smiled sheepishly, gleefully at her, holding up a bottle of something, and he might've been waiting for a while, because he bounced in his seat. She couldn't look sillier than that if she tried, so she didn't care to put up a front.

"Hey, Dr. D." She grinned tiredly. "Still losing sleep over me, huh?"

Scowling briefly at her teasing, Drakken pushed the bottle towards her, ever expectant. "Ta-dah!"

He watched her eyebrow arch at the champagne. "Is that the…?"

He nodded eagerly. "C'mon, Shego! In a mere five months, we've managed to become the rulers of the villainous business world! We can't just go to bed! We have to celebrate!"

She gave him a skeptical look; after a couple of seconds, however, the look sort of…softened. "We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow," she said, but he could tell her resolve was weakening.

He grinned.

Champagne was popped, poured and sipped. They declared it top shelf (it would have to be, because what else would a super villain bother stealing?).

When they'd shared a proper toast, he brought out an ancient-looking cassette player.

"Party music," he announced, when she sent him a strange glance. He pressed play.

'—_very kinky giiiirrrlll! The kind you don't take home to mother!' _

His finger stabbed at the stop button. "I must've forgotten to rewind the tape," he muttered, purple-faced.

"And you've obviously saved that tape about a decade longer than the champagne, huh?" she remarked, exasperated but amused.

"_You_ put something on, then!"

Rolling her eyes, Shego grabbed the radio and fiddled with it for a bit before it settled on some kinda low-key late night station, soft, skippy jazz pouring leisurely into the kitchen. Shego shrugged and put the radio back down, looking like she didn't particularly care what they listened to as long as it wasn't his music.

The champagne disappeared slowly as they went on to talk about the business of the day.

"Ugh, I had to recall like a _dozen_ henchmen today!"

"Yes, Henderson from HR told me at lunch," Drakken offered, scoffing in empathy and absentmindedly refilling her glass for her when she'd drained her drink. "What was it? The global domination clause again? I've had the same problem with the schmucks who try to buy my DrakCo exclusive doomsday devices. They still don't seem to understand we have the power to shut them down remotely."

Shego nodded vigorously. "Yeah! And it's the second time in two months! What don't they get? If they use SheCo personnel to take over the world, said personnel will immediately be released from their contracts, we have the rights to all intel and there will be no refunds. It's a safety catch! I mean, doy, we're _part_ of the world, and we don't wanna be ruled, thank you very much! Not to mention it'd be murder on business! They can only take over 'cities, towns or lesser areas of land where SheCo branch offices are not currently residing'! Nothing else! Respect it! Yeesh!"

Nodding, and secretly admiring her ranting, he donned a pensive look. "You know, I'm actually considering switching to vehicles instead for a while— for the flashier villains with money to burn— just so I don't have to deal with the paperwork. I'm sure customized hover cars would sell like hot cakes."

She grinned. "Not bad, Dr. D. As long as it doesn't involve your Cousin Eddie, we can air it out at the Monday meeting."

"Huh. I still can't believe you've gone legit," he mused. "Sort of, anyway."

She lowered her glass. "What are you talking about?"

He waved his drink at her. "Using your real name and everything?"

"What, you think I'm gonna let all that work go to waste over somebody finding out I've founded my company under a fake name?" She treated him to a look of overbearing amusement. "I had enough trouble just laundering the start-up money. And it's not like people didn't know who I was, ever since we saved the world."

Drakken arched his brow at her, as if to convey his point was still valid. "They didn't know you were Sharon Gordon."

Shego tossed her hair. "Well…now they _do_."

"I think you'll always be Shego to _me_, though," he confessed, smiling fondly at her. Things like that were allowed these days. It was painful to remember how there had been a time, a very recent time, when they were barely even allowed to be _thought_.

"You're just saying that 'cause you don't want me calling you _Drew_," she teased, her answering smile a touch more mischievous than his.

He only shook his head at that, grinning into his glass. After those terrible, long months when she'd only referred to him as Dr. Drakken, when or if she'd even talked to him at all, he didn't particularly care what pet names she chose for him now, as long as she _did_. Not now, when she would actually meet his eyes and would banter with him and would never pretend as if they hardly knew each other. Outside of business-related situations, she could use any endearment she wanted on him. Within reason, of course. If she started calling him _Drewbie_, he'd clearly have to reconsider.

Only a third of the bottle was left now. At the back of her mind, Shego kept an eye on the time. It was nearly midnight, and she had to go to bed soon. First, though, she wanted to see if the Doc would turn into a pumpkin or not.

Her glass was put aside, and she moved closer, a guarded look in her eye.

When she was almost there, when he could feel her breath on his face, he faltered. "Uhm…Shego?"

"Don't tell me you're gonna crap out on me again," she warned, retreating a little. There was a note of incredulous anguish there that made him wonder what cats looked like when they cried, or when they stumbled at the finish line. Probably prettier than cave trolls, but not inside.

"Besides, after the stunt you pulled in the boardroom, like, _right_ before you came to work with me, pretty much everyone thinks we're dating, anyway, right?" Now she'd resorted to humor, her small laugh unnatural.

Drakken helped her along, sparing them an awkward silence by rolling his eyes, agreeing. "Yes, I've gathered. Some of them aren't exactly subtle about it."

"Living together probably didn't help, either, huh?" Licking her lips, Shego wouldn't quite meet his eyes now. "So, um…I'm not…Dr. D, just so you now, I'm _not_ gonna try again, so if you're still gonna…"

"No, not this time," he promised, leaning forward. Taking the initiative.

She didn't skin him alive or even scratch him. If you didn't count the marks she accidentally left on his back the following weekend, of course.

Once a cat, always a cat.

**The End.**

* * *

**Author's note:** "Whatever, it's 2009!"

Sorry for the slight delay. I wanted to publish this about a week ago, but real life got in the way. Thanks for reading.

**Oh, by the way:** Cats and cave trolls are not metaphors for women and men, only Shego and Drakken. In case anybody wondered.

**I'd also like to extend another thank you to my beta reader on this story, Oldandnewfirm.** :) Go check out her neat D/S art at deviantART.

Considering the amount of D/S fic I've written, it's kinda funny that it took this long for me to have them say "I love you". Or, considering their characters, maybe not. Aaaand now I've just realized that in the only story where we do get to hear them say I love you, we don't really get to see them kiss. D'oh.

**[…] but in a way that seemed like the edges of a wound being held together:** Partly stolen from Peter S. Beagle's _The Last Unicorn_.

'—_**very kinky giiiirrrlll! The kind you don't take home to mother!'**_**:** "Superfreak" by Rick James.


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